


Sigh No More

by BranHowe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, M/M, Mourning, after end of season 14
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-28 12:14:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20063842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BranHowe/pseuds/BranHowe
Summary: Sam finally starts to deal with the aftermath of Jack's death.





	Sigh No More

**Author's Note:**

> Sastiel Creations Challenge | @twodaysintojune on Tumblr  
↳ Theme: SONG | Prompt: [Sigh No More](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7YhHM1ybfPI) by Mumford and Sons

The confessional was stuffy and dry at the same time and it was hard to stay alert in the silence that enveloped the entire church that Thursday evening. More silent than what Father Wilkins had ever felt before.

Every year, every month, every week the amount of people that went to church decreased; at least on his town. There was no time for theological introspection in today’s society when you could watch a bunch of people doing silly stuff on your phone all day long and the only regular visit of the last years, Mrs. Hopkins, had passed away almost a month ago of old age. The worst was that apparently half of her missing family had appeared out of nowhere and were now fighting all over each other about the inheritance. There were rumours at town that the sudden death of one of her sons was somehow involved with it.

Father Wilkins sighed, it was hard even for himself to stay compassionate sometimes and he only went along with the motions hoping that one day this awful feeling of hollowness these situations gave him would eventually go away.

The loud clank of the entrance door weaving on it’s hinges announced the visit of a person into the church. Father Wilkins heard the long footsteps make way to the confessional and the tiny door opening. He saw the shadow of the incredibly tall man behind the wooden lattice kneel in front of it. After a bit of a struggle in the tiny booth he took a breath, crossed himself with a quick motion and began to talk.

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been six years since my last confession and it’s been fifteen days since I last prayed to god."

“What brings you here today?”

The man stood still for a moment like he was assessing something and then gave out a soft laugh.

“To be honest I’m not even sure if this is the right place to be at.”

Another man with wavering faith. Father Wilkins wondered if he was ready to tackle something like this at the moment.

“Well, there must be a reason for you to have decided to come, how is your life?”

“Oh, everything’s peachy” The irony well accented in the man’s words “I’ve been fighting trying to save people’s lives for years now and I thought it was good and then I…” The man stopped for a moment too long and then sighed “I lost my son. God took him away from me.”

Father Wilkins hitched a breath.

“And how does that make you feel right now?”

“I…” soft shaken laughter “I feel so upset. I feel impotent, insignificant and lost and so, so angry! I’m so angry at god for taking him but I’m so much more angry at myself for not being able to do a thing! Because I was there. I WAS there and just with a snap of his fingers Jack was dead!”

“...the Lord works in mysterious ways.”

An ironic rough laugh from behind the latticework.

“He just likes to have fun looking at us drown in despair.”

Father Wilkins turned his gaze down to his crossed hands, he was as much a believer in God and His plans as any good devotee but he perfectly understood why such a situation would drive a man mad enough to make him say these kind of things with such resent. He kept quiet enough to hear the man stifle a sob.

“...It’s just so unfair. Jack was such a good child. He had all this potential to do good, to be good and now he’s gone because of a stupid whim or tantrum or, or whatever… And I’m still here and I… I don’t even feel like getting out of my bed in the morning because I no longer see the point on anything at all when I realize my life has been one strife after another non-stop and that god was right there, watching every single one of my actions and never did a thing to help!” 

The man stopped abruptly when he realized his voice had gone a tone louder. He continued after taking in a breath and calming down a bit.

“And you know Dean, my brother, he told me that we had to keep going and fighting. That helping others was still a good thing to do no matter how little power we had to change anything else...” Father Wilkins nodded in silent agreement with this brother the man was talking about “But I still don’t really feel like anything’s worth fighting for anymore. I mean, in the end everyone dies and some will go to hell and some will go to heaven but ultimately it doesn’t matter whether we helped them or not because it’s not our lives and most likely we’re not even free to take decisions for ourselves, heck, I don’t even know if I’ll land in heaven or hell or just disappear into the empty and the worst is that I don’t care. I don’t care anymore because I thought all of our actions meant something because we took them but it turns out that we have just been jumping the obstacles that god placed on our path...”

It was obvious the man had stopped his diatribe, mostly because he had run out of breath and anger, Father Wilkins sighed and silently prayed to God to find the right words to help this man. 

“You know Son, I believe that even when you don’t realize it right now, there’s a part deep in your soul that still wants to believe.” 

He heard a soft crushed sigh behind the latticework, by the sound of it the man was resting his forehead on it. It was the most defeated action Father Wilkins had seen on all of the people he had helped confess and it broke his heart.

“And it’s likely you’re not going to see it right now, or in a month, or in a year but even if you have not been able to find solace in God, there’s still a lot of good worth fighting for in the world. Take your brother for example, isn’t what’s left of your family worth fighting for?”

Father Wilkins would have included any other family members if he knew this man better but time had taught him that some times mentions of family were not taken nicely by everyone and that he should not make assumptions on other people’s lives. The man let out a soft snicker fondly, it had been the right call this time.

“Yeah, it’s worth fighting for.”

“It’s normal to feel the way you do. And it’s normal to feel betrayed but I believe that what’s most important right now is for you to mourn your son properly so that you’re able to move forward after that.”

“Even when I don’t know where that forward is?”

“Trust me Son, you’ll know when the time comes.”

Another soft huff. Father Wilkins saw the shadow of the man’s head nod softly, most likely pondering on his words.

“Thank you, Father.”

“You’re welcome Son”

The man shifted but he stopped after a moment.

“Uhm, so what is my penance?”

“Penance for what?”

“For… uh, cursing against god?”

“I don’t believe you deserve any kind of penance for grieving the loss of your son.”

He looked at the man’s silhouette move taken aback for a moment and then bend down his head.

“Thank You.”

It was more of a whisper but in the silence of the church Father Wilkins heard the heartfelt relief and gratefulness of the man. He hummed a nod, trying to avoid destroying the moment with unnecessary words. After a brief minute of reflection, the man moved to stand up and step away from the confessional. Leaving the door ajar. 

Father Wilkins waited until he heard the entrance door once more and he stepped out of the confessional to move his legs a bit. He saw a man that had apparently been leaning over St. Hubertus’ statuette checking it up. He turned his deep blue eyes to meet Father Wilkins’ gaze.

“Oh I’m sorry, I thought I was alone, were you waiting for a confession?”

The man smiled fondly, almost like there was something funny about the Father’s words.

“Not really but thank you.”

Father Wilkins approached the man wondering how he was able to stand the stuffy heat of the church with that thick overcoat. 

“Are you interested in religious imagery? Or perhaps you wanted to ask a favor to the Saint.”

The man turned to look at him questioningly before Father Wilkins glanced at the statuette.

“Oh, I was just looking at it. I had never seen a statuette of this particular saint in a church before.”

“It’s not really common but it was a gift and you know what they say about the gifted horse.”

The man hummed amused and stretched his hand towards him.

“Castiel”

Father Wilkins raised his eyebrows, he didn’t recall any Castiel on his angelic lore so either he was getting old or this man’s parents had become pretty inventive. He met the man’s hand.

“Father Wilkins, you can call me Albert though, something tells me you’re not much for names and titles.”

Castiel smiled openly. Since there was nobody else in the church he made small talk with the man about everything and nothing, he found out that he was actually investigating the case of Mrs. Hopkins’ son and gladly gave away what little information he had on them. He also showed him the beautiful image of Jesus on the cross gilded with gold leaf that she had gifted the church not much before her demise.

“She was a very good woman, I am sure she is in heaven right now.”

Castiel hummed in agreeance.

“She certainly is.”

After a brief moment of silence on behalf of the woman, Castiel bid his farewell to the man holding his hand once more.

“Thank you for your time Father.”

“Not at all. It was good to have some company for a while… I hope I don’t mind you but it’s been bothering me all this time. What thing does the angel Castiel stand for?”

Castiel looked at him a bit surprised. No one had ever asked him that before.

“Thursdays. I’m—Castiel is the angel of Thursdays.”

“Then I guess it’s not a coincidence we met today.”

Castiel’s eyes lit up in mirth.

“Apparently not. You’re a good man Albert, I’m glad we met.”

And with that Castiel left the place. Sam was waiting for him at the diner across the square and waited until he was seated and had thanked the waitress for the glass of water in front of him.

“So?”

“I checked all of the statues and imagery at the church but nothing was cursed. We know that Mrs. Hopkins’ son was found impaled on a cross but I honestly don’t think Father Wilkins has anything to do with this case Sam.”

“Yeah, me neither. I hope Dean finds something with the relatives we didn’t see yesterday.”

Castiel hummed, they kept quiet while Sam ate his salad.

“Sam I…” Castiel sighed “I’m sorry.”

Sam looked at him surprised.

“For what?”

“For not being here for you.”

Sam looked at his friend unable to understand what he was talking about. Castiel took in a breath that he definitely needed before talking once more.

“I… I was so upset when Chuck killed Jack that I didn’t even know how to help you at all. When Dean told me to give you both some space I selfishly took the chance to avoid facing the problem but I cannot let things go this way.”

Sam had left his fork on the plate, he tried to drown the lump forming in his throat.

“I was so stupid. I didn’t realize that we were all feeling the same way.”

Castiel was an angel, he had naturally heard everything he told the Father at the church. Sam’s gaze fell down onto his plate, he didn’t feel like holding his eyes against such profound tone of blue right now. He felt Castiel’s warm hand gingerly glide over his before letting it rest hesitantly on top of it.

“...Maybe I’m being selfish but I don’t want to stay apart forever.”

Sam sniffled. In a moment of weakness his hand tangled his fingers between Castiel’s.

“Yeah, me neither.”

He failed to keep the quivering smile he had managed to give to his friend but Castiel didn’t lose the meaning of Sam’s expression. He kept his hold on Sam’s hand also smiling sadly. Castiel turned his gaze down for a moment and then looked upwards nervously. Sam saw Castiel debating something in his mind before his sight resolved. There was something in the way the seraph was looking at him right now that made Sam’s eyes widen and his stomach flutter for a second.

“Sam I—”

“Hey, hands off my little brother! I haven’t properly given you the talk yet.” 

Dean arrived pointing a finger and a killing glare at Castiel while motioning the other towards Sam for him to move over. Castiel straightened up startled by Dean’s sudden intromission but tightened his hold on the other man in clear defiance. Sam on his side blushed wildly at the seraph’s actions but still managed to give Dean a well deserved bitchface.

“Shut up jerk.”


End file.
